#american detox

[wondermentishere]

being exposed to different cultures and other people from different parts of the world makes me want to divorce america. the air, norms, history, land, and food are all so toxic. i want to be free. i want to relax. i dont want to be distracted away from myself. i want to breathe, finally.

[glue-enjoyer]

I love house much and it think it’s cause they do the Star Trek thing of having an incredibly poignant episode focused on the central characters issues surrounding addiction (for the first time) and his denial, and how it impacts the other characters and then it’s immediatly followed by a horrible episode where he gets mad bc wilson doesn’t want to go watch monster trucks with him

[todayisafridaynight]

rgg has the chance to do the funniest thing ever (hire christian bale to va mine)

if they hired christian bale i think id actually have to leave and walk into the ocean never to be seen again

[slrmagazine]

Japan’s Hottest Exports ONE OK ROCK Announces DETOX NORTH AMERICAN 2025 TOUR

Japan’s Hottest Exports ONE OK ROCK Announces DETOX NORTH AMERICAN 2025 TOUR. #oneokrock @ONEOKROCK_japan

Beloved both in their homeland of Japan and around the world, Fueled By Ramen’s ONE OK ROCK is gearing up for an electrifying return on the road with their highly anticipated DETOX NORTH AMERICAN 2025 TOUR. This tour marks the band’s most ambitious journey across the United States and Canada to date, with performances in numerous cities they’ll be visiting for the very first time, including three…

[qubykunitedkingdom]

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[reality-detective]

Ready to give your lungs a clean sweep?

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Or you can search for your own thing. Remember to start out slowly. 🤔

[goldenstarprincesses]

Now, I don't really play around really with the micronations and don't include them in my headcanons. Yet with Seeland back in the news, I'd like to take this time I share my thoughts on Americas interaction with him.

I really think it would be funny if every year at Christmas and on his 'birthday" he sends out his wish list to every person he is 'related to". So England and Sweden get the list. But Seeland wants a good hall. And England will like, send him a book and a pack of nice socks. So he sends his list to anyone he might be related to. Canada, Australia, New Zeeland and America all get a copy of a list. His distant half-ish siblings don't really know him all that well but eh it doesn't hurt to send the kid some gifts twice a year. So he is not lacking for good gifts that a "kid" would want.

Around 1992 Seeland wonders how far he can push his luck with his wish list. No one will recognize him as a nation or respond to his letters about it, but clearly they get his wish list. So he sends his dear American "just won the cold war and is still sorta high on coke" super power half brother a list that goes: 4 in 1 game table, Walkman, nuclear weapon, matching Ninja Turtles sweatshirt and sweatpants, 402x full tripod telescope, F-15C Eagle, Tomahawk Land Attack Missile, and a signed baseball

Lets just say it damm good thing England has made it a habit to intercept Seeland's mail. Because, again Alfred is still not fully detoxed from his little white powder problem, and he has gotten pretty used to getting itemized list of weapon requests/demands from other nations. He's also the guy who can go 6 months without talking to his own brother who lives over the border because he can get so wrapped up in his own stuff. So he's like "hmm don't think I can do the nuclear weapon, but I'm thinking their might be some extra Eagles and Tomahawks available..."

[elizabethwritesmen]

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 5 : July 4, 2023

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: it’s 4th of july and your favorite soldier shows up at the firework show. you spend a little time with him and get a little drunk, resulting in some bad decision. everything is ok though, as long as he’s there with you.

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, pining, no use of y/n, reader is almost forced into a pool, angry simon, possessive simon, fireworks, someone flirts with reader, i think that’s all but let me know if i missed anything!

series masterlist

July 4, 2023

A year had passed since my kidnapping.

It was surreal, really. I liked to brush off the experience like it had been nothing but it took a week in the hospital to detox me from all the drugs those guys had pumped in me and two months for my leg to completely heal. It wasn’t the kind of thing you just… forget about. The trauma was gone, though, mostly, but what was left creeped in once I realized it was the anniversary of it.

And then the worst thought crept in. What if they came back? One failed attempt so they try again?

I shrugged off those thoughts, returning to my outfit search. I’d tried on a million options, and upon seeing them on me, decided they were awful and should burn. Because of this what can only be described as character flaw, most of my clothes were strewn across my bed and floor haphazardly after being ripped violently and angrily from my body. I sighed, accepting defeat, and found my safe choice. A cream colored American flag sweater, just thin enough to wear on the beach, and a pair of light wash daisy dukes with rips and exposed pockets. I yanked on my birk style sandals and called it a day.

I rushed out the door with my hair pulled messily into a white claw clip and my makeup done in a rush, mascara just barely smeared and a thin layer of lip balm. I jumped into my car, speeding to the beach where the firework show was to be held.

Normally, I would’ve had to work, but Sabrina’s husband’s family just happened to be the owners of the bar and he decided to close for the night so everybody could enjoy the holiday. This was mostly due to pestering from Sab and I, but that was fine, considering we got what we wanted in the end.

Once I got there, I parked right beside her husband, Dylan’s truck. Once they saw me, they climbed out and we all walked to find a spot together.

“There are a lot of people here already,” I commented as we found a free space at the end of the pier, right in front of the water.

“Probably trying to get good spots like the one we just got,” Sabrina wiggled her eyebrows.

“You know who might be coming?” Dylan asked me with a smirk that made me nervous. I stood, waiting for him to tell me, and he bit, “Connor.”

Connor worked with me when I first started at the bar, but he’d quit after a few months to take a job offer in another city. He was nice, adorable and likable. He was never immune to my charms but he was much more respectful than any of the other men I used them on. We’d hung out and, well, made out a few times before he moved away. I never really cared about him or anything, so his leaving was fine with me, but I did miss having a man around that wasn’t creepy or strange or icky in the slightest. Of course, now I had Ghost, but was he really around? Not much. So what harm could flirting with Connor for the evening do?

“You invited him?” I asked, brows furrowed, “I knew you guys were friends but I didn’t realize you kept in touch.”

“Yeah, he has plans with his family today and came here for them, but he said he’ll probably be done early and head here.”

“Interesting,” Sabrina grinned, “Sounds like a good chance for you to get laid.”

I threw my water bottle at her, “Not everything is about sex, Sab!”

“Well it sure hasn’t been for you lately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

“You’ve been stuck on Ghost for a year, flirting around with him and waiting for him like an army wife or something. And in that time, have you had sex or even done anything with anyone at all?” I cast my eyes downward, the truth in her words hitting me like ice water. “Exactly. I’m just saying, you need to get out of this rut or you’re gonna be hung up on a man you’ll never have for the rest of your life.”

Sabrina was always one for tough love. She never lied, and she only ever said exactly what she thought a person needed to hear.

“You know, I never really slept around even before I met Ghost,” My contradiction was weak against her words.

“I know. But I also know that’s the only thing that might get him off your mind and turn you back into a man’s worst nightmare.”

“Fine. You’re right. Hopefully Connor will stop by.”

“Atta girl!” She grinned, high fiving me with both hands as we settled into the chairs Dylan had carried out for us.

“Not to, uh, ruin this moment for you ladies or anything, but who is Ghost?” Dylan asked, seeming thoroughly confused.

“The guy I told you about, that always wears the mask. The one who saved her last year.”

“Oh!” recognition flashed on his face, “Somehow I’ve missed him every time he’s been here.”

“Well then you’ve also missed the googly eyes she makes at him.”

“I’m sitting right here!” I huffed, crossing my arms.

We hung out there for a couple hours, chatting and drinking a little more than we really needed to. I was nice and buzzed by the time night fell, and I looked around, surveying all the people there.

What I wasn’t expecting to see was Ghost and his three buddies a little ways away from us. They hadn’t noticed me yet, and I didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse. Did I have it in me to ignore him and just have a good night with my friends?

Of course I didn’t.

“Sabrina!” I hissed, smacking her on the arm until she paid attention to me. When she finally looked up from whatever she was doing on her phone, I gestured aggressively with my head to the guys in question.

“Fuck, who’d have thought? You gonna go say hi?”

“I don’t know, they haven’t seen me yet. It would be weird for me to just-“

“They see you now,” she raised a brow and gave them a slight finger wave, and I turned to see that they were, in fact, looking at me. Even him.

“Do you think they even want me to walk over there?” I asked.

“Of course they do, stupid, those boys are wrapped around your finger. Go!”

“No,” I sighed, “If he wants to talk to me badly enough he’ll come over here.”

“You and your dumbass hoe rules,” she rolled her eyes at me.

“They’re not dumb and I’m not a hoe!”

“Wait,” Dylan furrowed his brows, “That’s the man? The myth? The legend?” I nodded, giggling. “He’s fucking huge!”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Hell no, I’m guy crushing. Now I don’t resent Sabrina for telling me he’s hot.”

“You told your husband you think Ghost is hot?” I snorted at her, and she shrugged.

“He told me he thinks Angelina Jolie is hot. It was only fair.”

“So you guys just… share your gay crushes with each other? Any more you want to tell me about?”

“Well we’ve both agreed we’d have a threesome but only with you-“ Sabrina didn’t finish her statement, but I heard enough and reached my hand up to shut her up.

“I want to forget you told me that.”

“Fuck,” she gasped, “He’s coming over.”

“Really?” my tone was pathetic, too excited for my own good.

“You were right, I was wrong. Your hoe rules are not dumb!”

Before I could respond, he cleared his throat from behind me. I turned slowly, feeling his presence before I even saw him.

“Hey,” I grinned, and almost looked like he did too, under the mask.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, his voice the same rough melody as always.

“Well… I live here, and basically the entire town showed up, so..”

“That’s true.”

“What’s more weird is you being here. Considering this is a day to celebrate the US ditching England and you’re English.”

He shrugged, “I like American Independence Day. It’s interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Right now, the interesting part is you.”

I fought off the butterflies. Really and truly, I did, with everything I had in me.

“If you just came over here to flatter me, you can go ahead and go back to your friends,” I smirked, eyes narrow.

“Actually I came over to see if you’d wanna come say hi to them.”

“Awwww, so they sent you over here? And I thought you came over because you like me.”

Sabrina and Dylan had amused expressions on their faces, but neither said a word as they watched the exchange.

“They were just gonna wave you over but I told them I wanted to come ask you. Does that answer satisfy you?”

“I’m never satisfied,” I clicked my tongue, but I stood from my seat anyway, lightly grabbing his arm and letting him lead me away. “Be right back!” I called as I left, and my two friends waved goodbye to me, laughing.

“There she is!” Soap cheered as I approached, and a grin broke out over my face. “We started to think you didn’t wanna talk to us!”

“Was just waiting for Lieutenant Dan over here to notice me is all,” I hummed jokingly, getting on my tiptoes to pat Ghost on the head.

“Lieutenant… Dan?” he furrowed his brows, staring down at me, confused as ever.

“You’ve never seen Forrest Gump?” I practically shouted, mouth hanging open stupidly, and he shook his head. “That’s it, you guys are coming over to my place one of these days and we’re gonna watch it.”

“Fine with us,” Gaz shrugged, taking a sip of the drink in his hand.

Ghost still looked apprehensive and confused, so I told him in the sweetest voice I could manage, “Lieutenant Dan is super cool. I had a little crush on him the first time I watched the movie.” At that, his features relaxed, but they tensed again when the boys around us whistled.

“I think she’s got a little crush on you, Ghost,” Price laughed, and Ghost glared but I just giggled.

“I never said I didn’t,” I shrugged with a wink and the whistles got worse. “But I never said I did, either.”

We caught up, they told me as much as they could about what they had been up to but it wasn’t a lot at all. I noticed the more I saw them, the comfier they got speaking to me.

Then, I noticed Connor walking up the pier out of the corner of my eye, his own eyes already on me. A bright smile lit up his face and he picked up his pace to get to my side.

“Connor!” I squeaked as he pulled me into a huge hug, spinning me around in a circle and then waiting an extra second to let me go.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he winked, “You look good.”

“I look the same,” I scoffed.

“I know,” his voice was coy and I rolled my eyes, stepping back to put a tiny bit of distance between us, hyper aware of Ghost’s eyes burning into me.

“I can’t believe you made it,” I spoke, more tense than I normally would’ve been but I don’t think anyone picked up on it. I felt so awkward. I’d started the day with the intention of flirting with him, and doing anything I could to make him want me, and now I was a puddle for another man I didn’t even expect to see.

“Of course I made it,” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You’re here. I’d never miss a chance to see you while I’m in town.”

“I seem to have that affect on men,” I snorted, sparing a glance to Ghost and instantly regretting it. His eyes were hot, and they just about set me on fire, making my whole body feel tense and preyed upon.

“You always have,” Connor looked me up and down then, clearly liking what he saw, “Where are the lovebirds?”

“Over there,” I pointed to the end of the pier and he nodded.

“You gonna come join us anytime soon?” he asked.

“If you stay on your best behavior, I’ll consider it,” I smirked and he laughed all the way down to Dylan and Sabrina.

“You two seemed familiar,” Soap hummed, tone playful but eyes wary.

“He used to work with me but he moved away. This is the first time I’ve seen him in a couple years or so.”

“Guess time didn’t make him like you any less.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Why don’t you guys come down to the end, with us? The view is better, and I don’t wanna leave you but I can’t ditch them.”

“Fine by me,” Price shrugged, and the others agreed. Ghost didn’t want to, but they talked him into it, saying it was either hang out with me or stand there alone.

“Finally decided we were worth your time?” Sabrina jabbed as we approached, and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re always worth my time, baby girl,” I leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, “I was just having a chat.”

“Get a room, you two,” Dylan joked at our girly display of affection.

“Can’t, you married her before I had the chance,” I pouted, and they both laughed. I was straight as they come, but I still liked to joke about being gay for her. She was my best friend. What girl doesn’t do that?

“If anyone is getting a room with this one, it’s gonna be me,” Connor leaned around me to kiss me on the cheek and I all but cringed, shying away from him.

“‘This one’ isn’t getting a room at all, so don’t go getting your hopes up,” I was stern, but tried to be nice and protect the peace. I’d expected him to flirt with me. It’s not his fault I have a very angry looking Ghost watching over me and making me feel dizzy with need, my tummy a little sick from all the butterflies in there flying against my rib cage.

“See your mouth hasn’t changed much,” he just laughed, turning back to the side of the pier and leaning on the railing.

I approached Ghost, opting to root myself by him instead of by Connor. I wanted him to know that he was the one I’d rather have. It was silly, really, I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I wouldn’t risk doing anything that would make him not want to see me again. I needed him to want to see me again.

This action didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else, their eyebrows raised but they stayed silent. Ghost just grabbed my arm and pulled me half an inch closer, satisfied with my choice, and I half smiled.

“Hey hot stuff,” Sabrina began speaking to me, “After the fireworks we’re going back to mine and hanging out by the pool. You down?”

“Are we all invited?” I gestured to the four men beside me and she nodded.

“Of course! I wouldn’t leave anyone out,” her tone of voice was the same as all the times she joked about Ghost and I.

“Then yeah, that sounds good. You guys wanna come?”

“I’d rather hang out there than some crowded bar,” Gaz shrugged, and the others nodded. Once again, all except Ghost.

“Come on, Ghosty, you’re not gonna let me go all alone are you?” I spoke, only loud enough for him to hear.

“You’ll have Connor with you.” He spat the name out like it disgusted him.

“I don’t want him with me. I want you. Besides, all your boys are coming. Please?” That one word did him in, his eyes meeting mine in a heated gaze.

“I’ll come.”

I smiled victoriously as we all settled in to watch the fireworks that were about to start. He placed his hand on the small of my back and lead me to the edge so I’d have a better view, which was shockingly sweet for the gruff man.

An hour or so later, we were all doing our thing by Dylan and Sabrina’s pool. I was laying in a lawn chair, drink in hand, on the border between tipsy and drunk, a giggling mess. At some point, everyone became comfortable with each other. Or at least, everyone but Ghost. He sat right beside me in the other lawn chair, watching over me carefully.

“You’re weird,” I hummed out, reaching out to tap him.

“You’re drunk,” he countered.

“That’s why you’re watching me so close? Cause I’m drunk?”

He cast his eyes downward, “Guess so.”

I let out a laugh, the embarrassing kind that I would inevitably regret the next day, attempting to stand up but wobbling on my legs. I just about fell but he steadied me.

“I’m gonna go get another, you want anything, silly little Ghost?” the sentence came out a slurred string of words, but he understood.

“No thank you, love,” he sounded kind, like he thought it was nice I asked, “Are you sure you need another?”

“One more won’t hurt me,” I shrugged, turning away to stumble over to the cooler and pull out yet another bottle. I found my way back beside him and plopped back down.

I couldn’t manage to get the cap off, and it was making me increasingly angry. Finally, Ghost grabbed it from me with a chuckle and took it off for me.

“So sexy when you do stuff for me,” I hummed, taking it from him and taking a long sip.

“That needs to be your last one,” he ordered and I giggled again.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“If you’d make the right choice on your own, I wouldn’t have to.”

I rolled my eyes, throwing the bottle back again. When I put it back down, Connor was in my line of sight, chuckling about something with Sabrina.

“Hey sweet cheeks, I got a real question for you,” he smirked at me, and I groaned.

“Oh God help me, what is it?”

“Will you jump in the pool with me like old times?” he implored, voice hopeful and I snorted.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Come on, you love bad ideas. You always have. Every time we’ve been here, we’ve jumped in the pool, don’t let this be the first time we don’t!” I still looked hesitant, and I was hesitant. I didn’t want to do it. Especially not with Simon right there, watching my every move, looking for any reason not to want anything to do with me. “Unless you’re scared?” Connor kept going. “You weren’t scared of anything when I knew you. Guess you’ve changed.”

His voice was a challenge and I knew it was a trap, but I fell right into it, indignantly arguing, “I am not scared.”

“Prove it, then. Strip.”

We got locked in a stare down before I huffed, standing from my seat, still wobbly but my determination giving me a boost. Simon helped steady me once again, still looking at me, assessing the situation.

“Fine,” I shrugged as I yanked my sweater over my head then unbuttoned my shorts and pulled them down, leaving a trail of clothes on my way to the pool. Once I got there, all I had on was my lace bra and underwear, cute and purple. I didn’t even think before going for it, jumping haphazardly into the deep end, the rush of water hitting me like a train. I felt it shift around me and knew he’d jumped in right after me as I fought to get to the surface.

I finally broke through, and took a deep breath in, laughing the loudest I had all night. Sabrina and Dylan cheered for us, mumbling on about how familiar it was to see us in their pool. I risked a glance at Ghost. He was expressionless. Well, from what I could tell.

I made my way to the side of the pool, crossing my arms there and laying my head on them.

“You’re staring,” I hummed.

“You look fucked out. You need to go fix your makeup.”

I blushed, and I knew he saw it because his eyes perked up.

“Help me out, then,” I pleaded, reaching one hand out towards him and he stared at it for a moment before making his way towards me and grabbing it. He used it to tug me up while simultaneously wrapping his other arm around my middle and pulling me out.

“You’re not gonna swim with me?” Connor pouted from the pool, and I shrugged.

“I proved my point. Swim alone.”

Ghost’s glare shut him up after that, and we headed inside to the bathroom. He left the door open behind us but we still had a sense of privacy that had never been there before.

“Here,” he sighed, opening the bag of makeup wipes that Sab had on the counter and retrieving one then using it to wipe my face. “You feel good about what you just did?”

“Well I don’t feel bad about it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He grunted. “Everyone enjoyed it but you, Ghost.”

“Yeah because everyone out there wanted to see you half naked.”

“What, you didn’t? You don’t like what you see or something?”

“I didn’t say that,” his voice was deadly, as if he was chastising me. “That wasn’t smart. You’re drunk.”

“And you’re jealous.”

“I’m telling you that you made a dangerous decision and you’re accusing me of being jealous?”

“It wasn’t dangerous, first of all. I’ve done worse than that while I was drinking. And second of all, yeah. You’re jealous. You can admit it.” He stayed quiet, finishing up my face and going to walk out but I grabbed his wrist, tugging him back. “I’ve been rejecting him in the nicest way possible all night long.”

“Why?”

“Because I was scared if I didn’t, you’d decide I wasn’t worth coming back for again.”

“You can do what you want, it’s none of my business.”

“I know.”

“You can flirt back. You can damn near fuck him right in front of me and I’ll still seek you out the next time I’m here. You don’t have to worry one bit about that.”

“Is that a promise?” I asked, and he nodded, hand cupping my cheek. “I don’t wanna flirt with him. It’s pathetic is what it is. He came here tonight for me, thinking he was gonna get in these little lace panties, and the second I saw you he was an afterthought.”

His gaze was hotter than it ever had been, pupils a little wider when I risked those words. His voice was husky, going straight through me, “How rude of you.”

“You like me pathetic, huh? You like that I’m a little desperate?”

“You’re not desperate,” he chuckled.

“I am for you.”

He groaned, his masked face falling into the crook of my neck as his hands ghosted over my hips.

“Come on, let’s get back out there,” he pulled himself away and walked out, and I made no attempt to stop him that time, still trying to catch my breath.

A moment later I managed to compose myself, and I followed outside, laying back in my lawn chair. I was still a bit wet so I didn’t bother putting my clothes back on yet, but I was shivering slightly from the cold.

“Took you long enough,” Ghost mumbled from beside me and I rolled my eyes at him, leaning even further back, my eyes shutting. All the alcohol was getting to me, making me a little sleepy.

“You’re going to sleep?” The voice was Connor’s, and it was close. Before I could even respond, I was being picked up and held tightly in arms that didn’t feel like Ghost’s. My eyes shot open to see Connor carrying me towards the water.

“What’re you doing?” I asked loudly, squirming to get away. He just chuckled, clutching me tighter.

“Waking you up,” his voice was breathless as he laughed and I started struggling harder against him.

“Let me go! Please, let me go, fuck, God-!” I was full on wrestling him now to get away, not wanting to go back in the water. Thinking how wrong it was for him to throw me in there. He always used to do stuff like that when he’d lived close, and I hadn’t minded then, but I was drunk and it was late and-

My thoughts cut off there as he was yanked back from the edge by his shoulder.

“She said she wanted to be let go.” Ghost was standing there, looking as angry as ever.

“Chill, dude, this is our thing. We’ve always done stuff like this together, she’s fine,” Connor huffed incredulously.

“Does she look fine to you?”

They looked down at me, my lip trembling, fully uncomfortable in Connor’s arms.

“Connor, please put me down,” I tried one last time, “I don’t wanna be thrown in the water. I’m cold and drunk and-“

“Give her to me.” Ghost’s tone was not a playing one, sending shivers even down my spine and I could not imagine how Connor wasn’t cracking under that pressure. “Now.”

Connor sighed, nodding, setting me down next to Ghost who pulled me close into his chest, hand stroking my wet hair and wiping my cheeks where I hadn’t realized tears were falling.

“I’m sorry,” Connor looked at me and it sounded like he really meant it. “I just - we used to do shit like this all the time. I didn’t think you would care.”

“It’s ok,” I sniffled, snuggling closer into the broad expanse of man I was leaning against, soaking up the warmth for all it was worth.

“I’m gonna take her home, I think she’s had enough for one night.” I nodded as Ghost spoke, his arms even tighter than they’d been to begin with. “Get your clothes, come on,” he whispered into my hair and I did as asked, grabbing my shirt and shorts and slipping my shoes on. I gave Connor a quick goodbye hug and waved goodbye to the rest of my friends and his, who opted to stay for a while longer. They said they’d come pick Ghost up from wherever he needed, and he nodded as we left for the night.

He opened the passenger side door of my car for me and helped me in, frowning as I shivered against the biting night air. “Put your clothes on, sweetheart,” he suggested and I shook my head.

“Don’t feel - hiccup - like it,” my voice was practically a whine and he nodded, walking over to the driver’s side. On his way, be noticed a blanket in the back seat, and when he was situated in the car, he grabbed it and placed it over me. I cuddled into it, appreciating the gesture.

“Are you okay?” he asked me, as serious as I’d ever seen him.

“‘m fine,” my voice was weak, and I didn’t really understand why I was so upset. I’d been thrown into the water before. I never enjoyed it, but it never made me cry.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I don’t know why I’m so bothered,” I shrugged, “Guess with everything that’s happened to me I just felt scared. I don’t like… I don’t like feeling like I can’t get away from someone. Not if I don’t trust them.”

“You said you’ve known him for a long time, you don’t trust him?”

“Not like -“ I paused, wondering if I should say the next part, “Not like I trust you.”

He chuckled darkly, hand falling down to my stretched out knee and rubbing.

“You don’t know me at all,” he pointed out.

“I know you a little better than you think,” I huffed, “You’ve saved me three times now. You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

He clicked his tongue, turning the car on and pulling away, following my directions to my house. He was gentle with me the entire time until my tears stopped and I was half asleep in the seat, head slumped and eyes hazy.

He pulled in the driveway, slipping out of the car and picking me up, leaving the blanket and my clothes behind.

Once we got to the door, he took one arm off of me just long enough to unlock it with my key and walked me inside, barely caring to get a look at the place at all as he walked to the hallway in search of my bedroom.

“It’s the one at the end,” I offered and he nodded, finding it and letting himself in, laying me down on my bed.

“I’m sure you wanna get out of your wet…. clothes,” he vaguely gestured to me, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Don’t leave me here,” I gasped out, reaching desperately for his hand, “Don’t leave me here alone. I’m not ready for you to go yet.”

His eyes widened and he leaned back into me, crowding me and promising, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, just leavin’ the room to give you privacy to clean up.”

“Oh,” I hummed, relief settling in.

“You could say please, though,” his voice had that husk in it again, and I grinned.

“I don’t think I have to, you’re gonna stay either way.”

He tutted, “Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it.”

I thought for a moment. “Fine,” I smirked, then, in the most seductive voice I could manage, I leaned up and drawled, “Please.”

His pupils blew wide and he nodded, his hand exploring my face, cupping my cheek, squeezing my chin and making my lips pucker, and then it drifted into more dangerous territory, resting around my throat. My breath hitched and he chuckled, giving one small squeeze before his touch disappeared. He walked out of the room, laughing all the way.

I rolled my eyes, going to my dresser to get clothes. I was still too sleepy to shower or anything but I at least wanted to wear something that covered me and didn’t smell like chlorine. I pulled on a T shirt and a fresh pair of panties, not bothering with more. Ghost had already seen me in just my undies, why did it matter? Then I went to the bathroom and thoroughly cleaned my face and brushed my damp and stringy hair.

Once I was done, I left my room and searched for him, finding him in the living room, lounged back on the couch like he belonged there. Wordlessly, I sat beside him, and he hummed, pulling me into his side and tucking me there comfortably.

He was so warm, I couldn’t help but sigh, sinking into him. My mind drifted to places it shouldn’t be, imagining sinking into his arms all the time. Imagining having his warmth forever. I pushed that away. Those were not feelings I needed to unpack.

Finally, I glanced up at the TV to see he’d found Forrest Gump and it was ready to play.

“Really?” I asked, the ghost of a smile on my lips.

“Wanted to see what this Lieutenant Dan was all about,” he shrugged, clicking the button and starting it.

I couldn’t pay much attention, I was much too content to just relax into his hold. I checked my phone, seeing a few missed texts from Sabrina asking if I was okay, apologizing for Connor, and of course, some innuendos about Ghost and me.

“You two have an interesting friendship.” I looked up at him as he said it and laughed.

“How so?”

“Doesn’t seem like you like each other very much.”

“That’s just how we are,” I shrugged, “She’s my best friend, we just like being mean to each other.” He grunted in response, prompting me to turn back to the movie. It didn’t take long for me to drift off, snuggled deep into him and feeling more safe and taken care of than I ever had.

I woke up to the feeling of being carried and opened my eyes slowly just as Ghost laid me in bed.

“The team is here to pick me up. I’ve got to go.”

I pouted, not ready to let him go just yet.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“You shouldn’t drink so much, sweetheart, it makes you sappy,” he chuckled, but the look he gave me was pitiful and it only made me want him to stay more.

“I’m not being sappy, I’m being honest. I don’t do that a lot, be grateful for it.”

He sighed, sitting down beside me and stroking my hair. “I’ll be back. I don’t know when but I promise I will.”

I nodded, trying hard not to drift back to sleep, wanting those last few moments with him.

My eyes widened as he lifted his mask to his nose, exposing the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He leaned down, taking my cheeks in his hands and kissing my forehead.

Oh, I was fucked.

His lips felt so good, I was addicted and he hadn’t even kissed me properly. I felt myself getting a little closer to the edge of the cliff I was bound to fall off of.

He pulled away slightly, still close enough for me to feel his warmth, and I sighed, eyes on his lips.

“You gonna give me a real kiss, soldier?”

“Not when you’re all tired and drunk like this,” he shook his head, brushing his thumb across my lips then pulling away.

“Ghost,” I called as he made his way to the door, “Goodbye.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Get some sleep.”

[corpsentry]

there’s something so epic about hetero chinese period dramas and i think one part of it is that there is absolutely nowhere in the narrative i could exist.

lately i’ve been on a western media detox— i’ve cleaned english language music out of my playlists and have never been able to stomach western dramas anyway, so that part is easy— which might seem funny, because if i’m in singapore and i hate it and i won’t touch american music then what’s left? the answer is the false binarism of chinese period dramas, at least for me. the badly written ones are misogynistic and stupid and the better ones are less of those things, but regardless the world that emerges is clean-cut and easy to parse. there’s someone to root for and someone to hate. there’s a girl and a boy. there’s the comedy and the drama, the sheer thick drama, the music that signals to you precisely how to feel before the scene even starts going

try to jam a fifth culture transnational transgender they/them with 2 mental illness and 1 autoimmune disease into this world and it simply doesn’t work. and that’s kinda epic lolzers! it’s like watching high fantasy, or super hardcore sci-if. it both represents a simulacrum of the real world and is so far from the reality you know that you understand it as a hypothetical universe, one that disincludes you on principle. i exclude myself from the story and in doing so fangfei from moyuyunjian’s steely gaze becomes all the more important. i give so many shits and laugh and yell and spectate. but i am safe from the eyes of its inhabitants. if i entered the story it would break. so i sit outside of it, clapping by myself

in other news, we gave up on mysterious lotus casebook 16 episodes in. there are many character archetypes in these shows that i can no longer stand; the salacious sexy seductive supervillain lady is not necessarily one of them but the way they did miss ‘this man didn’t even Look at me when all men fall at my knees so i hated him’ ‘no one is allowed to steal buttchin from me’ jiao was way up there. surely a woman can have multiple personality traits and yet you would think from this drama that that is not at all true. and the strange harem that grew around li lianhua despite his absolute loser attitude— like i get it, he’s the gintoki of this show, that’s hot, but the way the women who were into him were written made me want to Eat Horse. it bothered me that di feisheng and lianhua’s homo as fuck dynamic was so intriguing and them + fang duobing was a winning trio but all the women in the show were written like complete fucking ass, and one of the big antagonists being a woman, the stakes throughout were not only lost to me but also Pissed Me Off. also, that case about the corpse flowers dragged on forever and all my pocky wilted

I Just Think, women deserve better in these damn stories. make them slutty as hell, sure, but make them other things too and i mean this in the most generous sense. slutty and proud. slutty and weird. slutty and oblivious. literally anything at all so they don’t come out cardboard flat from all angles. this is why i have a personal vendetta against the ditzy clueless female protagonist as well because if everything stems from the fact that she doesn’t know shit it’s like please someone Please tell her shit i’m on my hands and knees begging. give her more to chew on she’s dying of boredom over there

this is why i liked the so called antagonist of blossoms in adversity best (spoilers ahead). he was cruel as hell to huazhi and gu yanxi’s only parental figure. he was paranoid and selfish and lonely and craved a son’s love from the one person he couldn’t hold onto. in the end he is pushed further and further by huazhi, who won’t give in, to isolate yanxi from the people he loves and to lash out at those people as a way of punishing yanxi. and when he dies it’s because of his own distrust, his own negligent parenting, his absent cruelty from decades of insomnia and lack of faith in his people. but he cries for yanxi, and there’s something so human about that. to think of evil not as a first principle but rather an adjective for a verb that is set in motion by other events. to be honest, i haven’t seen such thoughtful writing in any chinese period drama before or after that and i strongly suspect i will never see such writing again in this genre but man, it was so fucking good (spoilers end).

in the meantime, i’ve dragged my mother to moyuyunjian/the double for the return casting of liu xiening and wang xingyue who are Eating so hard. they’ve got wang xingyue done up with the sluttiest makeup and liu xiening is breaking my heart with her pout and her Sassy Mean constitution and this is a revenge story, yes, but it’s a double revenge story. it’s a grief story. and fangfei is carrying more on her shoulders than lingbuyi imo, and doing so with much more grace too. her step mom’s a dick but she’s a smart, 5d chess playing dick who wears hot shades of green so i’m personally interested enough to keep watching (something lotus casebook DID NOT accomplish with their epic female antagonist…. mein gotte). and the princess too. unhinged as hell but god, so charismatic. and beautiful, with scary big eyes and the sweetest head tilt. fun fun fun! that’s fun character writing right there. the comedy might be too straightforward for my tastes but everything else is kind of hot and sexy And after the coming of age ceremony when jiangli appeared amidst the flowers i felt my throat close up even though we saw her for all of one (1) episode). i was like yes. they got me alright. i Care now

really that’s all that matters isn’t it. we want stories about people we care for. we want to give a shit. why else would we listen to the stories of other people. we are looking for us and the people we love in them

oh also moyuyunjian soundtrack goes hard as hell i love a little three step waltz. here’s a pic from the ‘gym’ for ur time. guten night

[dragoneyes618]

The major lesson that reviewer Christine Rosen extracts from Rob Henderson’s new memoir, Troubled: A Memoir of Foster Care, Family, and Social Class, is: “The people who control a great deal of our cultural and political conversations are a rarified elite with little understanding of how most people live their lives.” (I have not yet read Troubled, though I’m eager to do so. What follows draws primarily on Rosen’s review in the Free Beacon and on Henderson’s op-ed in the Wall Street Journal.)

To comprehend the gap between those elites and the vast majority of Americans, consider a recent Rasmussen survey of what the authors call “elites” — more than one post-graduate degree, an annual income of $150,000 — and a subset of those “elites,” who attended an Ivy League school, or another elite private school, such as Stanford or University of Chicago, whom Rasmussen dubs “super-elites.”

Three-quarters of the elites and nearly 90 percent of the super elites describe their personal incomes as on the upswing, while almost none describe their incomes as on the decline. For all Americans, however, nearly twice as many view their income as worsening as view their financial situation as improving — 40 percent to 20 percent.

Despite having eventually made it to Yale as an undergraduate in his mid-twenties and later earning a PhD in psychology at Cambridge University, Henderson most certainly did not stem from the elite class from which so many of his classmates came. Students at Yale from families in the upper 1 percent of wealth are more numerous than those from the bottom 60 percent.

One of Henderson’s Yale classmates, who had attended Phillips Exeter Academy, America’s top prep school, once lectured Henderson on his white privilege — even though he is actually half Asian and half Hispanic. Yet it would take a certain obliviousness to label Henderson a child of privilege. One of his earliest memories is of his drug-addict mother being pulled away from him in handcuffs and hauled off to jail, when he was three. He never knew his father.

After that, he was shuttled between various foster homes, none of them stable, until he joined the US Air Force after high school. The discipline of the military helped him overcome some of the chaos that had characterized his life until then. But many of the old demons remained, including his penchant for self-medicating with alcohol, and he ended up in a detox program, where a talented therapist helped him work through some of those demons.

One of the central messages of Henderson’s memoir is that a non-stable childhood family life is not just bad because it hurts your chances of getting into an elite college or attaining a high-paying job later in life, but also because those raised in such an environment experience “pain that etches itself into their bodies and brains and propels them to do things in the pursuit of relief that often inflict even more harm.”

Given their difference in backgrounds, Henderson found many of the social rituals of his classmates incomprehensible. One example was when the Yale campus erupted in hysteria over an email from Erika Christakis to the students of Silliman residential college, of which she served as co-master with her husband Nicholas, suggesting that they were old enough to work out themselves which Halloween costumes to wear, without asking the administration to issue an elaborate set of rules to avoid “microaggressions” or “cultural appropriation” — e.g., a white student wearing a sombrero. After the childhood and teenage years he experienced, a fellow student in a sombrero did not seem like such a big deal to Henderson.

Erika was eventually force to resign her position in Silliman and on the Yale faculty, much to Henderson’s disappointment, as he had been eager to take her course on early childhood development. Meanwhile, the black undergraduate who confronted Nicholas Christakis in the Silliman courtyard, in an expletive-laden tirade, in front of a group of students cheering her on, was given an award for extracurricular excellence at the next Yale graduation.

Henderson offers an invaluable term to describe the opinions expressed so fiercely and with no tolerance of opposing views by his fellow undergrads: “luxury beliefs.” Luxury beliefs, as Henderson defines them, “confer status on the upper class at little cost, while often inflicting costs on the lower classes.” The conspicuous displays of wealth and leisure activities that broadcast elite status in Thorstein Veblen’s time have been replaced by opinions and beliefs that give proof of one’s elite education. After all, Henderson notes ironically, how many non-Ivy-League-educated Americans can easily toss off terms like “cisgender” or “heteronormative”?

Mantras such as “defund the police” are luxury beliefs because their impact on those living in gated communities or the most affluent neighborhoods is likely to be negligible. Henderson comments about the policies implemented to combat white privilege, “It won’t be Yale graduates who are harmed. Poor white people will bear the brunt.”

He recounts the story of a refugee from the North Korean police state, attending Columbia University, who raised concerns about the anti-free speech movement on campus, only to be taunted with “Go back to Pyongyang” on a social media site for Ivy League students. Normally, nothing will earn faster exile to social media purgatory than telling an immigrant, “Go back to where you came from,” but this particular refugee was deemed deserving of insult, writes Henderson, because she “undermined these people’s view of themselves as morally righteous.”

Incidentally, I would rank as near the top of “luxury beliefs” the familiar chants about Israeli genocide and apartheid. They cost their proponents nothing, yet effectively broadcast one’s moral righteousness and humanity, not to mention elite education, especially when terms like settler-colonialism and intersectionality are thrown into the mix.

Henderson is primarily concerned with the way that bad ideas — e.g., dismissal of matrimony and monogamy as passé, decriminalization of drugs — filter downstream in the culture, where they wreak havoc. As Charles Murray thoroughly documents in Breaking Apart, rates of marriage, children living in two-parent homes, and attendance at religious services have remained more or less constant in the most affluent quintile of the population, while plummeting in the lower quintiles. But on elite campuses, marriage is more likely to be portrayed as a prison for women, just as the same students for whom the words “capitalist oppression” roll trippingly off their tongues can be found the same day lining up for interviews with Goldman Sachs.

But the danger posed by the holders of luxury beliefs lies not only in their pernicious cultural influence. Holders of those views are quite comfortable with the use of coercion to advance their beliefs. Four-fifths of the super elites, interviewed in the Rasmussen poll cited above, would ban gas-powered cars. Just under 90 percent support strict rationing of meat, gas, and electricity, and 70 percent would ban all nonessential air travel.

The impact of these restrictions on the most affluent would likely be relatively small. They can afford electric cars, and would buy carbon offsets to circumvent some of the most onerous rationing or purchase them on the black market. And dollars to donuts that their air travel would be deemed necessary. The impact of such policies on the less affluent doesn’t figure into their calculations.

Elite campuses have been focal points for the limitations on free speech, and over half of the super elites educated on those campuses describe Americans as possessing too much freedom. That goes with a general contempt for markets, which allocate equal weight to the choices of the unenlightened and the enlightened.

That concern with “too much” freedom goes together with a remarkable trust in government among 70 percent of the elites and 90 percent of the super elites. Government is beneficent, in their eyes, because it can force people to do what the enlightened have determined is good. The elites know that their hands will be on the levers of coercion, particularly administrative agencies. (I would wager that the majority of those lower-level staffers staging mini-rebellions in the White House and the State Department over American support for Israel’s war on Hamas are holders of elite credentials.) Ronald Reagan’s quip, “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, ‘I’m from the government, and I’m here to help,’ ” does not resonate with the elites.

Sixty years before Rob Henderson first stepped onto the Yale campus, another man already in his mid-twenties entered Harvard as an undergraduate. Like Henderson, Thomas Sowell came from a deprived background and served in the military before entering college. He was born in the Jim-Crow-era South, in a home without electricity, and served in the Marines during the Korean War, after dropping out of high school.

The 1969 black student riots at Cornell, where Sowell was an economics professor, and subsequent pressure at UCLA to lower his standards for students, soured Sowell on academia, which he left for a position as senior fellow at the Hoover Institution almost half a century ago.

Over 50 years and almost 40 books, most still in print and many of them standard texts in economics, and ten volumes of collected columns, Sowell has leveled a sustained critique at the dominant intellectual doctrines of our day, in particular those of his fellow black intellectuals, whom he views as having spectacularly failed the black masses by advocating for policies that may serve their interests but not those of the large majority of American blacks. (Only about one-third of his writing concerns issues of race, and he has penned classic works in intellectual, social, and economic history.) Jason Riley’s intellectual biography of Sowell is appropriately titled Maverick.

In a short new work, Social Justice Fallacies, which I would commend to every college student and social justice warrior, Sowell fleshes out many of Henderson’s observations, including the detachment of elite theorists from the lives of those whom they purport to advocate, and their sometimes subtle, sometimes not, contempt for those whom they view as their inferiors.

The second chapter compares the Progressive movement of the early decades of the 20th century to present-day progressives. At first glance, it would appear that little connects the two groups, apart from their position on the political left of their day. A strong streak of racial determinism characterized the early progressives, and many of their leading lights fretted about the disastrous impact of an influx of people of inferior races to America. By contrast, today’s progressives start from the premise that there are no differences between races and that all differential outcomes are a result of systemic racism.

In the earlier period, Professor Edward Ross, the chairman of the American Sociological Society, warned that America was headed toward “race suicide” by virtue of being inundated by people of “inferior types.” American universities and colleges taught hundreds of courses in eugenics, defined as the reduction or prevention of the survival of people considered genetically inferior. The most famous economist of the 20th century, John Maynard Keynes, was founder of the Eugenics Society at Cambridge.

Irving Fisher of Yale, the leading monetary economist of the period, advocated for the isolation or sterilization of those inferior types. Or as Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes put it, “Three generations of idiots are enough.” Sowell remarks upon how casually Fisher spoke of imprisonment of those who had committed no crime and the denial of normal life to all regarded as inferior. Not by accident did Hitler yemach shemo term a work on eugenics by Madison Grant, a leading conservationist and advocate for national parks and the protection of endangered species, his Bible.

At first glance, today’s progressives could not seem further removed from their namesakes. They are the opposite of racial determinists. In the modern progressive creed, all differences in outcomes between people of different races can have one and only one explanation: discrimination by the majority group.

Despite the opposite views on race, Sowell finds important continuities between the progressive movement of the early 20th century and that of today. Today’s progressives share, according to Sowell, their predecessors’ aversion to confronting empirical evidence that challenges their fixed verities, and a similar inclination to respond to empirical challenges with ad hominem insults — racist being the most powerful — rather than with counter-arguments and evidence.

And they are similarly inclined to use government power to coerce the less enlightened to behave in accord with their “expert” opinions, and too frequently oblivious to or unconcerned with the impact of their policy prescriptions on those constituting the “lower orders,” in their minds.

Woodrow Wilson, perhaps the leading figure of the Progressive era, served as president of Princeton before being elected president. Like many of his fellow progressives, he was an unabashed racist who insisted that black employees in government offices be physically segregated.

But what joins him to present-day progressives is his enormous confidence in government by experts. He presided over a massive expansion of the federal government and the creation of many of the largest administrative agencies, run by “experts.” He viewed the Constitution as outmoded for a modern age. But not to worry, government agencies headed by experts would usher in a “new freedom,” albeit not quite the freedom of a constitution limiting the power of government and enshrining individual rights.

Today, DEI bureaucracies on almost every campus seek to enforce right-thinking and enter into every aspect of university governance, including faculty hiring. Those mushrooming bureaucracies account for a large part in the explosion in higher education costs.

Sowell takes aim at the racial theories of the early progressives and contemporary ones alike. He seeks to empirically refute the claim that each race has a different “ceiling” for intelligence. (If anecdotes were data, his own genius would serve as refutation.) He met with and debated Professor Albert Jensen, one of the leading modern proponents of that view.

Sowell argues that environment, not inherent ceilings, underlies much of the difference in IQ between races. For instance, those raised in the Hebrides Isles and the hill country of Kentucky, though of pure Anglo-Saxon stock, have IQs comparable to American blacks. And like American blacks, their IQs tend to decline from childhood to adulthood. Social isolation appears to be the key. Sowell cites another study that blacks raised by white adoptive parents had IQs six points above the national average.

As an amusing example of the fallibility of IQ tests as measures of inherent capabilities, Sowell quotes Carl Brigham, who developed the SAT test. Brigham claimed on the basis of army mental tests administered in World War I that the myth that Jews are on average highly intelligent had been refuted. At least he had the good grace to admit by 1930, as Jews excelled on standardized tests, that his earlier conclusions had been without merit, and had failed to take into account that most immigrant children were raised in non-English-speaking homes.

Sowell is equally effective skewering the present-day progressive belief that all differences in outcomes are explained as products of racial discrimination. He chafes at the resultant cult of victimization that stands in the way of examination of cultural behavioral factors that prevent black advancement.

He insists that behaviors count and explain a great deal of the differences in income levels between different racial groups. For instance, black married couples have experienced poverty rates of less than 10 percent for decades, which is less than the national poverty rate for all families. And black married couples have higher income levels than white single-parent families. The problem is that black marriage rates overall are lower.

It is often said that the high illegitimacy rate in the black community is attributable to the “legacy of slavery.” But for nearly a century after slavery, the rates were relatively low. In 1940, they were one-quarter of what they are today. Sowell suggests that the rapid expansion of the welfare state in the 1960s explains much of that rise, as births to single mothers have also risen rapidly in Sweden, the welfare paradise, where there is no legacy of slavery.

Evidence cited to show discrimination against black children by “white supremacists” — e.g., discipline rates two and a half times those of white students — proves the opposite, Sowell suggests. For white students are themselves twice as likely to be disciplined as Asian students. Perhaps, then, disruptive behavior, rather than discrimination, explains differential rates of discipline. To get rid of school discipline in the name of equity leads to schools in which it is impossible to learn, and ends up harming black students, he argues. Attacks on discriminatory school discipline is thus another one of those “luxury beliefs,” like defunding the police.

One of the major causes of the burst housing bubble of 2007, which Sowell predicted, was government pressure on lenders to greatly reduce credit requirements for mortgages. The regulators’ theory was that blacks were being discriminated against in the mortgage market, as evidenced by the higher rate of rejection for black mortgage applicants. The only problem with the discrimination hypothesis, Sowell shows, was that black-owned banks rejected black mortgage applicants at even higher rates.

The hypothesis that different income levels are exclusively a function of discrimination founders on the fact that other minority groups — e.g., Asians — have, on average, incomes well above the medium national income, and dark-skinned Asian Indians earn on average $39,000 more per annum than full-time, year-round white workers.

The victimization narrative, in Sowell’s eyes, is not only unhelpful but damaging to blacks, as it shifts the focus from one of encouraging the types of behaviors that are associated with success. In the immediate wake of slavery, and for nearly a century afterwards, almost all graduates of all-black Dunbar High in Washington, D.C., went on to college. Black and Hispanic kids in New York City charter schools are six times as likely to pass city math proficiency exams as their counterparts in the regular public schools. Why? Sowell wants to know.

Focusing on the behaviors that foster success rather than wallowing in a narrative of discrimination — which he personally experienced in his younger years and does not deny still exists today — is for Sowell the key to black advancement. And that requires more empirical study and less airy theorizing.

Many of the panaceas that derive from au courant theories have been conclusively refuted on the ground. Black political power in most of America’s largest cities, for instance, has done little to change the lives of the vast majority of black citizens. And affirmative action has, in Sowell’s view, reinforced stereotypes of black inferiority, among whites and, even worse, among blacks themselves, while doing little to help inner city blacks.

Without a clear-eyed attention to empirical evidence and an openness to debate based on facts and logic, in Sowell’s terminology, we are forever consigned to the realm of “luxury beliefs.”

[thewarmhut]

My Introduction! 🛖

I am Liz, I am 20 years old. I am Mexican American, I know Spanish and currently trying to keep culture alive in me. I consider myself a creator, I love to create things by hand. I have 2 dogs and 3 cats! I love them all very much!

Here, I post about my creations and the process. Posts about my adventures, thoughts, pets. Pretty much anything!

I am a free spirited soul! I am a flower child, I live authentically and without the judgment of others! And so I tell you, reader! Live your life the way YOU want to live it, set free from constraints of society and judgments! This is YOUR life, own it! Don't let anything or anyone take ownership of it, big or small! 🪷

My Interests🏺

Creating/crafts/diy!

Self sufficient/off grid living/herbal medicine

Digital minimalism/digital detoxing

Witchcraft/magick/spirituality🪷

Aesthetics of earthy, boho, traditional, ancient, tribal? Apologies I just can't seem to find the name for my personal aesthetic 😅

If you read this, could you leave a comment down below? Kinda like a guestbook!

Thanks for reading! 🫂

[footprint-in-the-snow]

I actually desperately want someone to explain every reference in the SATVB art please <3

okay so i havent figured out Everything but this is most of what i can gather. sorry there arent links to specific references im not supposed to be doing this i need to be packing for uni 😭 but this is everything off the top of my head !

starting from the left wall theres the peep show poster which matty has said to be his favourite show in a reddit comment, idk what the streets poster is a reference to, the ghost on an island is an antichrist reference 'theres a ghost on this island' and then the petrol can is an its not living reference as 'danny works in a petrol station'

so the back wall obviously the cancelled banner for lols, 4 days since last incident as a general meme reference?, do not use emergency only is likely a reference to mattys abstinence from social media and being a bit OTG, flushed away poster is obvious, the fake matty quote which he never said and was on the problematic, oasis poster as they need to stop marding and get back together!!! from Q with Tom Powell and various other Oasis call outs, Maroon 5 as problemattic beef, Newcastle United as duh, Frozen as he referenced liking frozen in a couple 2014 interviews particularly the moshcam (?) one, idk about the IDs and then the box from the philharmonic orchestra album, the icon from the mind shower detox thing they did for notes which was a 3d tour thing that's still up and then the height chart as matty is short <3 and the good boy points which i dont know what it is referring to specifically but i think its funny

now the window/right wall has la poesie est dans la rue is etched into the tree and is an easter egg in quite a few music videos and is a reference to love it if we made it, the minion i assume is a reference to the deuxmoi thing of matty sending minion memes to a girl, and then a camera i assume is a general comment on the lack of privacy you get as a celebrity and 'house with just three walls' etc

the couch and table has matty smoking and chained to the couch as a reference to the consumption bit and could be reference to the idea that he is stuck in a position of his own doing, hann is a wizard i presume as a hobbit reference? and then the dubai and malaysia flags as he got banned,oxygen tank from consumption, cross due to the religious signposting on his ig story and a juxtaposition to his atheism, thesaurus for those big words, infinite jest as its referenced in sincerity is scary, wine, cigarettes, xanax as a reference to 'Xanax and a newport' in part of the band, i live cum mug from the problemattic, american flag as a lot of their music is informed by Americana especially on notes(? maybe also just because america)

then on the floor here theres the coke bottles as matty cannot be seen without one, the piss/apple juice from when he was spotted with gabbriette, the fox i saw on twitter means temptation so could be a very subtle hint towards temptation from porn and the right and so on, raw meat from consumption and its being 'swept under the rug' so could be a metaphor for matty being problematic and it being glossed over by him, hairdye as there was twitter rumour he dyed his grays and matty has previously said he would not, flame and wok box as the boys used to work there, typewriter from the typed up letters he used to do but u dont know what 'im not a beatnik im a catholic' is a reference to, true romance is one of mattys favourites and was a key inspiration for the robbers video

i have no clue what this is other than human blunt? and seeds and beans? as a gyat reference? help?

this corner has the married computer so man who married a robot, lotion and tissues for activities, cow with glassjaw hoodie as a nod to when we are together and also the nme interview where he mentions that hoodie as the one he put on at 13 and took off at 19 if im correct, grass block from satvb promo, tent could be a nod to reading and leeds? then skeleton with the lab coat i dont know exactly but i think it could be another problemattic reference with me on the brain, and then 2013 george with his blue gatorade as in most gigs you can see his blue gatorade with its own stand!! (though i watched trsmnt the other day and it was orange) and he is producing i think it could have been drawn from a photo but i cba to find it

and last but not least, ross!!! who is also jesus as there were lots of memes surrounding him looking like jesus or being a personal jesus and so on, also could be to do with the problemattic post of ricky gervais on the cross for being an atheist, penguin!! because ross likes penguins, bees are a manchester symbol, beer, robber with the iconic 2014 shirt, greggs sausage roll i presume from when one got thrown onstage but also the twitter meme of 'i saw matty crying in x greggs' and then i think the last on is a mortal kombat character and nearly forgot but ross also has a lamp as he turned off the lamps at the end of when we are together during atvb on stage

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Meghans Blandsgiving - and maybe a hint of her alienating habits by u/Mickleborough

Meghan’s Blandsgiving - and maybe a hint of her alienating habits The Daily Mail’s picked up the marie claire oleaginous piece about Meghan hosting dinner for Afghan refugees (viz photogenic and picturesque females only): archived / unarchivedTo show that they don’t just rely on marie claire’s gush, and are capable of independent reporting, the DM’s dug up Meghan’s Thanksgiving recipe (c 2014), from The Tig:https://ift.tt/GgzwjhC that spring to mind:- Meghan was ‘given’ her recipe by Dr Alejandro Junger. Really? Dr Junger advocated a system of detox based on diet and lifestyle, writing 3 books on this, including ‘Clean Eats’. Arguably attribution was thought to be the more prudent cause because he’s not a nobody.- Why would anyone advocate a Thanksgiving dinner that comprises just a main, salad, and ‘healthy’ dessert? Asking for a non-American friend (seriously). Isn’t Thanksgiving a feast, to give thanks for avoiding starvation? Aren’t there staples, which must be respected? Turkey, cranberry sauce, potatoes, pumpkin pie etc etc etc.- Meghan contemplates a ‘small group’ for Thanksgiving dinner (later providing a recipe for 2 - 2!). American films inform us that Thanksgiving is large family gatherings - or a group of good friends such as Chandler, Joey, Monica, Phoebe, Rachel, and Ross.- Food snobbery: it goes without saying that the turkey she didn’t buy was free range.Not sure what’s the difference between Meghan’s Thanksgiving dinner, and a weeknight dinner.Because a picture paints a thousand words, Meghan includes a photo of the chicken Thanksgiving dish on The Tug.https://ift.tt/4sMAX8m looks delish! Almost as good as the picture on Dr Junger’s Clean Program website:https://ift.tt/xPQrM3s of Meghan’s September 2019 Vogue issue in which she wrote: ‘…over a casual lunch of chicken tacos…I asked Michelle [Obama]’ - omitting that this was by email.What is with Meghan’s obsession with chicken? post link: https://ift.tt/Nhcj6Kg author: Mickleborough submitted: November 22, 2024 at 08:53PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[smegmafactory4ever]

How does the education vs intelligence flux theory work when comparing the USA education system (piss easy) to any other education system?

If you're from the US education will not make you smarter. You need to move out of the country and detox from 5g and fluoride and Mcdonalds and American brainwashing to actually activate your brain to its full potential.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"These calls for “getting tough” also generated debate and bitter exchanges between different groups claiming to represent African Americans. Some critics insisted that “law and order” operated as a euphemism for anti-black and anti–civil rights sentiments. Leonard De Champs, chairman of the Harlem Chapter of the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), excoriated the NAACP, calling it “oppressive and Nazi-like for its Fascist proposals regarding law and order in the streets of Harlem and New York City’s other Black communities.” He charged that

Vincent Baker’s love for mandated jail sentences and tightened-up parole procedures conclusively proves that the NAACP is an effective enemy of the 1.2 million Black people in this city.

Floyd McKissick, a longtime civil rights activist and another leader of CORE, claimed that the NAACP’s punitive recommendations reflected the interests of the black middle class. He wrote that

the arguments used in the report of the NAACP smack suspiciously of the Ronald Reagan-George Wallace school of repressive ‘law and order,’ at any cost. They appeal to the fears and prejudices of citizens who have even a little bit worth protecting.

He pointed to “a gap of understanding between middle class and poor Blacks along economic lines” and explained that

we should know by now that the addition of more white cops in the ghetto solves nothing. The ones who suffer more from such measures are the poor blacks; not necessarily the guilty ones.

Instead of harsher punishment, McKissick called for community control:

The ghetto must be safe for its citizens, but it cannot be made so by police state tactics. All efforts must be directed toward the ending of conditions which breed crime and chaos; all efforts much be directed toward the development of a Black-orientated, Black controlled law enforcement agency—an agency dedicated to the aid and protection of Black people, not to their suppression.

During this period, a host of community groups and organizations set up treatment programs, many of which received New York City and state funds, intended to be more directly accountable to thecommunities in which they were embedded. Some grew out of churches and established community groups, while others were connected to more radical political organizing. For example, in March 1969, eighty volunteers and twenty-two drug addicts took over a three-story building in Harlem and set up a drug-treatment program. They hoped to bring attention to “the inadequacy of the state’s narcotic program and the entire health program for the black people.” The addicts involved told the New York Times that they had faced a maze of waiting lists and applications in their efforts to secure treatment. One had never heard back from a program he had applied to three years earlier in 1966. The journalist reported that all of the patients interviewed complained that the state’s drug addiction programs were “more punishment than rehabilitation.” One addict asked if “I should turn myself in to the state and be locked up for rehabilitation.” They contrasted the civic degradation of the state treatment programs with guerrilla programs, claiming that in the latter, they “talk to you like a man, not a statistic—the people really want to help you and it makes you want to help yourself.” After a police eviction order, the center was closed and the patients transferred to an “underground hospital.” In subsequent years, other groups also established treatment programs. The Young Lords, a radical group dedicated to Puerto Ricans’ self-determination, were integral to establishing a detox program at Lincoln Hospital.

Drastic fluctuations in policing further intensified frustration within urban communities. In 1969, the city initiated a major intensification in street-level enforcement of drug markets. At a press conference in September, Mayor Lindsay announced that the police department intended to shift the narcotics division’s 500-person force to the pursuit of upper-level drug arrests and direct the entire remaining patrols to prioritize narcotic arrests at the street level. This sweep produced a considerable uptick in narcotics arrests in New York City: they jumped from 7,199 in 1967 to 26,378 in 1970. Then, in 1971, at a high point in the surge of heroin use, the NYPD abandoned their campaign of intensive street-level drug policing. Police officials claimed that the policy was ineffective and expensive and resulted in low conviction rates because the court system did not have the capacity to process the arrests. The result was a dramatic fall-off in arrests. New York City police conducted over 24,025 felony drug arrests in 1970, 18,694 in 1971, 10,370 in 1972, and 7,041 in 1973."

- Julilly Kohler-Hausmann, Getting Tough: Welfare and Imprisonment in 1970s America. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2017. p. 57-59.

[gveret-fic]

“Israeli flags and not gut-instinct feel anger and reactionary disgust bc of the way that is used to signal racism, bigotry and pro-genocide sentiment here.”

Yeah this is a blatant and virulently antisemitic lie, and anon should feel bad and know that they’re eating up the same propaganda as all antisemites in history. American antisemitism is up by insane multiples, and it was never low. In 2002 the overwhelming majority of religious hate crimes targeted Jews and it’s gotten horrifically worse every year. The fact that anon associated the Star of David in this way reflects their own consumption of antisemitism (they’ll claim it’s the flag but it never freaking is considering that they target schools, stores, fraternities, etc etc etc etc etc. But even if it was exclusively the flag, it’d still be unacceptable. For instance, one could make the same claim about the Palestinian flag honestly with a much higher basis in reality considering the aforementioned antisemitic violence, but anyone sane and decent wouldn’t, would fight such an association and realize that it’s not acceptable. Making such claims means you’ve taken perhaps justified fear or anger but you’ve turned it into bigotry - like all bigots everywhere. Good luck to anon in detoxing, bc their comfort in saying the above means they should be deeply concerned with how much danger and hatred they’ve been promoting this year…

I think we can all agree the same symbols can have different meanings in different contexts. Anon was clearly talking about their association of the use of Israeli flags in protests with "pro-Israel" protests in America, many of which have been (sometimes violent) counter-protests against anti-war protests.

In this regard I take issue with the term "pro-Israel" as well; it is not pro-Israel to support a pointless war that is causing the deaths of our hostages and tens of thousands of Palestinian civilians, and is only serving to keep Netanyahu in power and his deranged coalition intact. It is strictly pro-war and pro-Netanyahu. In general, this isn't a basketball game. You shouldn't pick a team. You should be on the side of humanity.

Obviously it is true that antisemitism is on the rise worldwide and it's always been high. You're not wrong to be on the lookout for it. But anon's message demonstrated they were open to self-reflection and reevaluating their biases. It's a good thing to feel comfortable admitting to your own blind spots. It's the people who will vehemently refuse to admit they exist who will never be able to fix them.

As for the Palestinian flag, again, context matters. In an Israeli context, for example, the use of the flag in protests is in the process of being criminalized. So saying everyone would fight the association of the Palestinian flag with antisemitism is, well, context-dependent, as most other things are.

I can't understand what you're going through with the current wave of antisemitism, so I'm not here to judge your vigilance. I just have a personal goal to engage with people in good faith whenever I can, unless it's clear there's no dialogue to be had. I think the anon was genuine, and I appreciate their willingness to listen and course-correct. It's a rare and admirable thing in my view.